Don't Carry It All
by readyandpsyched
Summary: Connor McKinley had been managing life in Uganda just fine for nearly ten months, when the arrival Elder Price forced him to reevaluate how he understood and coped with who he was and what he believed.
1. Part I: A Layman's Guide

**Part I: A Layman's Guide to Hiding Out in Uganda**

To others, he said that he felt a "deep spiritual calling" to accept the position of District Leader in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saint's Uganda Kampala Mission, for the third district in Gulu. After receiving the call, he'd written home to his parents that he was "blessed to share his time and talents with the Ugandans." Regarding the district's slow progress in bringing people to the Church, he said he felt confident that "it just takes time to develop a bond with the community and share with them the message of Christ."

But to himself, Connor McKinley admitted freely that his primary reason he came to—and remained in—Uganda was that he was terrified of returning home. He had been in Uganda for nearly ten months and had made a comfortable, if lonely, niche for himself. Uganda meant a reason to avoid his problems, issues he may have to face back in the States. It meant focusing on the mission in spite of himself, and training himself to shut off unwanted thoughts and avoid distraction. It meant shouldering a heavy load of emotional baggage, but Connor had convinced himself that he was happier (and stronger) because of it.

He was often ashamed of how selfish his reasons were for staying, even though he was still committed to his mission, but he couldn't help it. He was terrified of being faced with temptation, of having to hide who he was, or even worse, having the ability to be more openly 'himself' but still feel trapped by fear and shame, unable to reconcile what Heavenly Father wanted him to be with how He had made him.

* * *

><p>The Church had long been hesitant to send missionaries to Northern Uganda because of the LRA presence and ongoing violence that plagued the region. But, there was no doubt that the people in the region could be helped and comforted by the gospel, and so it was decided in late 2009 that the Uganda Mission would add a third district to include the northern part of the country.<p>

Elder McKinley and Elder Thomas, along with Elders Zelder and Michaels, were the first to be sent to Uganda Gulu District 3. Missionaries had been active in Northern Uganda and even Southern Sudan for years, but only for short visits, and primarily in a humanitarian capacity. The four young men would be the first the set up a permanent Church presence in the region.

They were posted together in the same borough in Kampala at the beginning of their service, and were transferred to Palaro—an isolated village north of Gulu town—two months later when the new district was established. This was the Church's first foray into tracting in more rural parts of Uganda; formerly, missionary work has concentrated in the two urban areas of Kampala and Jinja, partly due to the more than three dozen languages found in Uganda and the difficulty of communicating with locals, but mostly due to the guerilla violence and lack of basic resources in the outlying villages.

The establishment of Gulu as a branch in June 2008 (and later as a district) had been delayed time and time again by the Church because of conflict in the region. Not long before Connor and the others were sent to the village, most of the district's people were displaced because of the violence, living in temporary IDP camps or fleeing to the city at night. It was only in the months preceding the Church's decision to make the region into Uganda's third district that villagers felt safe enough to return to their homes.

Connor was, admittedly, nervous and a little frightened about the transfer when he was first informed of it by the Mission President. But he was mostly excited—he felt a calling to open up the new area, and it would be a welcome change from Kampala. The capital was chaotic, loud and too full of people. Ever since he had been assigned to Uganda before MTC, he'd had romantic visions of quiet, calm village life.

He knew they were pipe dreams, but still, he fantasized about a place where he could sit outside in the early evening listening to the wind hiss through the brush, where kindly old women in the market would help him pick out ripe bananas, where he could take off his shoes and roll up his black slacks and play soccer in the dusty street with the neighborhood children, and where he could go out at night and see the entire night sky illuminated over the acacia trees. It would be nice, he thought, to hide out from the rest of the world, just disappear.

The village was not as he had imagined. It was cacophonous. Everyone seemed to be yelling at everyone all of the time. Goats bleated at all hours, the market was a terrifying place to go, a fine layer of red dust covered everything indoors and out, and he was warned that if he went out at night he would probably get stabbed. When the four Elders first arrived at the village, they had, as their home and meeting house, a small red-brick building with a corrugated tin roof and a tattered curtain for a front door. There was no electricity or potable water. They had a small gas stove, a pit latrine and washbasin, four cots with foam mattresses, and a single chair. It was not ideal, but Connor liked it just the same. He had been called to serve, and he worked hard to make Palaro feel like a kind of home.

A month later, while they were still adjusting to village life, Elders Neeley and Schrader arrived, and four months after that Elders Davis and Church joined the district. Together, the Elders built a new meeting house in the village and began, slowly, to develop relationships in the community and try to get some investigators.

It was demanding work. At first they were treated like celebrities, but when it became clear that they were not there to provide money or material aid, just to share the gospel, most of the villagers developed an indifferent attitude towards the Elders. The language was isolating—while most everyone spoke English, the majority of people in the region spoke Acholi as their first language, and it's was nearly impossible to clumsily involve himself in a conversation with locals. They hadn't had any language training at MTC because there were no local educators skilled in any of the East Africa languages, so the Elders were left to study on their own. Languages were not his strong suit, and though he studied every day he failed to develop beyond simple pleasantries. His difficulty frustrated him to no end.

There were small victories. Over the first several months, the Ugandans would call out "_Larok_!" at him and the other Elders, a derogatory Acholi word for foreigner. However, as relationships with the villagers deepened, or at the very least the Elders' presence in the village became more commonplace, some would address him _omera_, brother. He couldn't help but grin every time someone called him _Omera_McKinley.

And then, there were the setbacks that tested his faith and resolve and made Connor regret ever embarking on a mission. Like when a man emerged from a cow shed brandishing a scythe and told him that if Connor didn't leave his property he would gut him like fish.

Or there was the time he and Elder Michaels were proselytizing north of the village and a gruff looking man, who was sitting with some others under a tree next to a petrol stand, saw the two foreigners down the street. The man whistled loudly and yelled out to Elder Michaels, "Hey! _Larok_! _I gi nyamin chieg_! [You have a beautiful wife!] _Daheroe tero nyachira_! [I would like to take her as my second wife!]"

The man roared with laughter. He laughed and laughed and his friends laughed and Connor's face blanched. He turned around abruptly in the middle of the road and started back the way they'd come. Elder Michaels jogged to catch up with him, and blithely chuckled, "Gosh, that guy really needs Jesus!" But Connor didn't say a word on the walk back to the house. He felt disgusting and exposed and violated and angry. With his jaw clenched and his fists balled up in his pants pockets, it was all he could do to keep from crying before he got into his bedroom.

* * *

><p>That was the way life went in Uganda, a continually swinging pendulum: from feeling accomplished to feeling useless, from cheerful to crestfallen, from accepting and understanding to disdainful and insensitive. Connor's mood could change drastically in an instant, spurred on by the tiniest encounter: an encouraging chat with a villager while sitting outside of the clinic, a rude look from someone in the market, or a kind wave and toothy grin from a student walking to school. Navigating another culture, especially when they weren't exactly welcomed, was exceedingly difficult, and it took a mental and physical toll on the Elders. They sought solace in scripture, the successes they had teaching, and in their journals and group discussions. But sometimes they just plain had bad days.<p>

Missionary life was certainly tough at times, but Conner prided himself on his ability to keep a hopeful and positive outlook. He was skilled at keeping his frustrations inside and focusing on the mission. If he took something too personally, he would get angry with himself for being distracted. He was chosen specially for the challenges presented by opening a new district, he was told by the Mission President, because of his "unwavering determination and optimistic persistence to share his faith". At the time, it was a heartening compliment, a confirmation that he would be able to do some good in a new place, where people had yet to be touched by the gospel.

But now, eight months since moving to Palaro, that sentiment sometimes seemed like a cruel taunt to Connor, like they had known all along that the region would be unreceptive, and he was sent there not because he would be able to save anyone but because he could 'hack it', the day by day by day apathy, defensiveness, rejection and even hostility they encountered while proselytizing and stick it out for two years.

Still, Connor humbly accepted the position of District Leader when he was called by the Mission President. He had hope that the Church could still make a difference in the region, and he truly believed that they just needed time to build spiritual relationships, but he often found it difficult to trust that Heavenly Father intended for the Elders to ever have success baptizing anyone in Palaro.

* * *

><p>He'd been district leader for almost a month now, which involved reporting about their activities in Palaro, mentoring and training the other elders and leading study. He felt pressure to set a good example for the other Elders, but through prayer and diligence he believed that he would receive the necessary spiritual help. The added responsibility was fulfilling and Connor felt emboldened to be serving the mission in a greater capacity. But at times he worried that the other Elders could see through him, see that he wasn't the shining example that he should be, and that he was continuing to have thoughts that he just couldn't turn off.<p>

Connor had hoped that in Uganda, where he could focus on the mission of spreading the word of Christ and saving souls through baptism, he would be able to more easily turn off such thoughts. He wasn't sure why he believed that. He told himself that it had worked pretty well, at first. He wasn't tempted here, at least not as often. The mission was most important and any other personal concerns were frivolous and distracting. But the thoughts never really went away.

He had struggled since fifth grade to understand the feelings he had for other men and to untangle them from the guilt and shame he experienced for feeling that way. He still didn't know whether it was Heavenly Father's will to suppress those feeling because they were bad, or be open and honest with himself because that's how He made him. He wasn't sure if Heavenly Father had made a mistake, if He had made Connor this way just to punish him, or if maybe the Church was wrong, and he shouldn't keep suppressing these feelings. The notion that the last explanation may be true scared him most of all.

He had never dared to share these thoughts with anyone.

When he was younger, in grade school, Connor used to lay awake in bed at night praying to Heavenly Father to be changed, to be made normal. He prayed for hours and hours, curled up clutching his blue comforter speckled with stars and constellations, pleading for answers: Why was he made this way? What was he being punished for? How could he atone? But he never received an answer. Instead, he got ghastly nightmares about an afterlife fallen from Heavenly Father's graces because of the sinful thoughts he had.

And so, in his late-teens, he'd stopped praying for change. He knew it wouldn't happen. His curse wasn't curable, as the Church taught. He chose to ignore that part of the doctrine, even though he couldn't fully escape the guilt. He felt a bit of relief being able to say to himself, _Yes, this is who I am_, but he had yet to understand how he could ever be comfortable or accepted as he was. He still felt sick and guilty when he had the thoughts, and couldn't imagine acting on any of the desires that he had. Well…he could imagine… That's why he just prayed for guidance and strength, advice on how to turn off these feelings for as long as it took.

In Uganda, it wasn't even an option to entertain these thoughts. And he'd never had the desire to do so. But back home, maybe someday, it would be OK to be himself, and that idea terrified him because he didn't know _how_. He'd spent ten years of his life denying that he was different, trying to ignore that he was the only one who wanted to kiss another boy, who wondered what it would feel like to lie next to someone who felt the same way and stare into his eyes and smile shyly and blush deeply and brush a stray hair behind his ear.

He was afraid of how people would judge him, afraid of being exiled by his family and the Church, afraid of going against God's will and most of all, afraid that he didn't really know who Connor McKinley was supposed to be. That after playing a role for so long and following the 'upstanding Mormon man's path', he didn't know how to be himself, were he brave enough to even take the chance.

There were so many things about himself that he had always been too scared to share—how dancing made him feel vibrant and alive and wonderful even though he quit at age twelve because his father said it was better to focus on soccer…how he hadn't actually kissed Susie Parks at the Sophomore Fall Formal even though he told people he had…his dreams of having a big Mormon family with a two-story house and a big yard and a vegetable garden off to the side…those gay thoughts he just couldn't shake—that he wasn't sure he'd ever be comfortable enough in his own skin to be able to be honest about himself. He_wanted_people to know. He desperately wanted to share his life, all of himself, with someone, but he couldn't bear the consequences. He was just…afraid.

Uganda seemed like as good a place as any to hide out, postpone real life and ignore those fears. Despite the heat, the poverty, the reluctance of the locals to hear the teaching of the church, the bugs, the isolation, the dirty water, the dust, the sickness and the lack of real 'friends' outside of the other Elders (except maybe Nabulungi), he actually liked his post in Palaro. Life in Uganda was lonely and frustrating, but he took a strange comfort in the fact that he chose that loneliness, that he owned it and that it was preferable to the different kind of loneliness and isolation he felt back home.

Here, he had a purpose, and he could throw himself into his work, mind, body and spirit, avoiding his own worries. He couldn't turn off his thoughts entirely, but there were times when they faded into the background. The routine of missionary life soothed him. He liked meeting new people and forming relationships, spending time listening to their stories, bearing testimony, and working with the community in what little ways he could to improve education, health, sanitation, representation and faith. He truly believed that even if they weren't interested in learning about the Church, well, maybe they would be one day, and his and the other Elders' presence was a step in the right direction.

* * *

><p>Connor was especially skilled at keeping spirits high among the Elders and maintaining focus on the mission. That's what the Mission President had praised him for, and, during interviews and mentoring sessions, what the other Elders said they appreciated most about Connor's leadership. They also called him a worrywart and 'flustered' (not to his face), but Elder McKinley always seemed to have hope that things could get better, and make the others believe in that hope. He wasn't <em>close<em> with the Elders—he always felt a bit isolated from the other young men, probably of his own doing—but he rationalized that distance to himself by arguing that it was necessary to being a good leader. Whatever he was feeling inside—even if that conflicted sharply with what he told the Elders—he could most always put a positive spin on it to cheer up the other missionaries. This meant that Connor was sometimes putting up a front and turning off his real feelings. It wasn't pleasant, but he knew it was best for the Elders morale if he was strong for the rest of them.

When he was fourteen, Connor's mother Eugenie told him offhandedly while flipping pancakes one Saturday morning, in a scolding yet loving tone that he just couldn't comprehend at the time, that he was selfless to a fault, putting others' happiness ahead of his own so often that he didn't take the time to care for his own feelings, and that that would catch up to him some day.

She deftly transferred two pancakes from the griddle to a plate and handed it to Connor, saying, "We've received a wonderful gift, the light of Christ, in order to share that light with others. But you have to have that love in your own heart first, and feel Christ's love within yourself… And believe in how much He loves you as you are…in order to let your light shine. Do you understand?"

Connor nodded with a mouthful of pancakes, but he didn't understand. He thought that sounded boastful; Mormon men were supposed to rule and share the gift through meekness, not pride. His mother was formerly an Evangelical Christian who had been baptized in the Church after meeting his father at university, and sometimes she used rhetoric that didn't quite fit with what he'd been taught growing up in the Mormon Church.

In Uganda, he often experienced what he referred to in his mind as the "MGS", the "Missionary Guilt Spiral". He would feel dejected for being unsuccessful in integrating into the community and reaching villagers with the teaching of the Church, but then he would feel guilty for focusing too much on his own feelings and not keeping his mind on the mission. And then he would feel bad for not caring about himself. And then he would feel bad about that, too.

He shared his feelings about the mission with the other Elders—they all experienced the MGS—but he impressed upon them how important it was to not let those feelings affect their work. Distracted missionaries were bad missionaries, and given the challenges of their particular post, they couldn't afford to be distracted. He urged them to pray for guidance and strength, as he did.


	2. Part II: Enter Elder Price

**Part II: Enter Elder Price**

Connor had been in Uganda for 294 days. 294 days since he and Elder Thomas arrived at the Entebbe airport, nervous but excited, and stepped out of the plane into the unbelievably oppressive humidity. 233 days since he boarded a bus in the chaotic Kampala terminal for the 12-hour ride to Gulu, followed by the horrendous ride to Palaro where the bus broke down three times and he was seated between Elder Neeley on one side and a goat on the other.

He had been District Leader for 44 of those days and despite his reservations about ever bringing people to the Church in Northern Uganda, he was hopeful about their prospects. He had a good relationship with the other Elders, and the villagers were less actively hostile towards them and more apathetic. He still experienced the Missionary Guilt Spiral, but there were times when he actually enjoyed his work, and he hadn't had to 'turn it off' as often lately—until the previous week.

It had been not quite five days since two new Elders arrived at their house, fresh from Kampala. Elder Cunningham was clumsily enthusiastic, and his companion, Elder Price, appeared apprehensive about finding himself in Palaro but he remained charmingly self-assured. Connor counseled Elder Price about how to deal with his feelings of doubt and hesitation, and he felt genuinely hopeful that these two could turn things around in Palaro.

Well…they did, but only after ruining things in the worst way possible. Elders Price and Cunningham had provoked the local warlord, who had been leaving Palaro alone for the past several months. They had converted twenty villagers by feeding them ridiculous perversions of scripture, and succeeded in getting the Mission President to nearly shut down the entire district.

Throughout this tumultuous period, Connor had been grappling with his own issues. Lately, he had more and more trouble turning off his thoughts. Coupled with the aforementioned events, he was stressed to the breaking point. He was sure that the other Elders could tell that he was unfocused, flustered and distracted, and as much as he tried to keep up his cheery demeanor, he was feeling more irritable and frustrated and was certain that it must show.

It was all Elder Price's fault.

* * *

><p>Connor had had crushes in the past, that wasn't anything new. And he had, for the most part, been able to turn off his feelings and never show them. After Steve there was Nathan, a soccer teammate for a summer in middle school who had moved away, and after Nathan there was Ryan, his Chemistry lab partner Junior year, and in between and throughout there were stretches of consuming loneliness, interspersed with shame and repentance and confusion.<p>

With Ryan, Connor recalled always with an embarrassed wince, he had not been cautious. He had let some of his feeling slip through, in the hopes that maybe, possibly, Ryan would reciprocate. He didn't want to_do_ anything with Ryan (well, maybe he did, but he would never actually try to), he just wanted to see if maybe he wasn't the only one who felt this way. And he thought that maybe, possibly, Ryan was like him. And that maybe, possibly Ryan _did_ like him.

The attraction wasn't immediate. It was gradual; Connor began to notice how good he felt around Ryan, how easily they could joke, how similarly they felt about movies and faith and classes and life, and how seeing Ryan would immediately brighten his day. He couldn't deny that Ryan was good-looking: tall, with strong forearms, and sand-colored hair that flopped awkwardly over his bright brown eyes. He didn't fully realize his feelings until he became aware of the slips he was already making.

They were the little things that Connor barely noticed himself doing: standing too close to Ryan in the lab, reaching for the same pen and grazing Ryan's hand just to see how it felt, conspicuously watching him at his locker down the hall, the just-slightly-too-persistent offers to study together or spend time alone or "Hey, maybe, I dunno, if you want to come over to my place and work on the lab report and maybe watch a movie or NOVA or something…". Each time he realized what he was doing he would feel guilty and ashamed, afraid that someone would notice.

But as far as he could tell, no one did notice. Except, apparently, Ryan. The second week of March, after Ryan had been absent from class for two days for a baseball tournament, the two boys were making up an assignment in the lab after school. They were alone together and Connor allowed himself a brief chuckle at how fortuitous it was, but quickly stowed that thought away and focused on their work.

Connor was fumbling with a rubber hose attached to the sink faucet, trying to fill up a basin with water. He had a towel in one hand and a clamp in the other, struggling to persuade the tube to stay put when suddenly the hose popped off the faucet and into the air. Connor spun around attempting to grab it, in the process knocking over the water basin and a rack of test tubes from the table, dousing both their notebooks and Ryan. Connor, crouching down to grab the tube, looked up at Ryan and, seeing him standing dumbfounded with his gray t-shirt soaked, immediately and without thinking stood up and started patting Ryan's shirt dry. He held onto Ryan's arm with one hand and ran the towel against his chest with the other, not making eye contact and laughing, "Geez, I'm sorry...I couldn't get the thing to…and then…"

Ryan looked at Connor, confused. Then concerned. He took a deliberate step back and put his hands out, pushing Connor away. "Dude, you've got to, just… back off."

Connor immediately realized his mistake. _No no no no no no no too far, too much. Too weird. Oh no. No no no no no._

The color drained from Connor's face and for several moments he was unable to move. He didn't breathe. He was frozen, wide-eyed with a look of sheer terror staring at Ryan. He recovered, and looked away bashfully. He crouched back down to pick up the scattered equipment and, facing away from Ryan, stammered, "Oh geez, I-I'm sorry. Sorry. I was just…No, I wasn't…Sorry."

Connor stood up, putting the test tubes back on the table. He laughed nervously, trying desperately to play it cool. "Haha, looks like we won't be able to finish this today," he said with a feigned smile, holding his dripping notebook up by its cover and wagging it in the air.

Ryan was already hastily tossing his books in his backpack and heading towards the door. He stopped and turned around to face Connor: "Uh…yeah. OK, well I'm gonna go then. Just…yeah, I'm gonna go. My sister's probably waiting for me. So…yeah."

Connor eked out a too-eager, "Oh, yeah, sure, of course!" and grinned widely. He kept grinning until Ryan turned the corner down the hallway. Then, his smile fell. He sank down onto the stool, rested his still-shaking hands on his thighs, slumped his shoulders and stared dejectedly down at the puddles of water on the floor. He sat there for a very long time.

The two boys spent the rest of the semester working together in class with little extraneous conversation, and in their last year of high school they barely spoke to one another. After they graduated, Ryan went off to school at Utah State and Connor, who would be nineteen in September, received his missionary assignment and went to the MTC, just days after his birthday. They didn't keep in touch.

Connor cringed and felt sick every time he thought about how thoroughly he'd made a mess of things. He was ashamed to be so careless and undisciplined. Thinking back, Connor couldn't fathom how he had so badly misjudged Ryan. He surmised that he'd read too much into each little twinge or glance from Ryan, that it was all just wishful thinking. At age nineteen, he was pretty convinced that's all it would ever be for him.

* * *

><p>After the incident with Ryan, Connor had fallen into a bout of self-loathing worse than he'd ever experienced before, worse even than when he came home from soccer practice one day in fifth grade and asked his father, "Dad, do I <em>really<em> have to marry a girl when I'm older?" Lewis McKinley chuckled jollily, "Of course! Who else would you marry? A horse?" Mr. McKinley sat down with his son on the oversized green leather couch in their living room and explained to Connor that yes, marriage between a man and a woman is essential to God's eternal plan, and that yes, one day he would find a nice woman to marry. Any other sort of union would be offensive to God.

The ensuing conversation had made Connor so uncomfortable and anxious—to learn that Heavenly Father was very clear about how men should lead their lives, and that the confusing thoughts he may be having (of which he did not tell his father) were definitely not part of that plan—that he barely sleep for two weeks. He lay in bed at night willing himself to stay awake, praying to be fixed and repenting for any transgressions he'd committed. When he did finally fall into a fitful restless sleep, he had terrible nightmares. They were scattered, disjointed and blurred, but he was sure that they were because of what his father said.

Those nightmares continued on and off ever since. Nightly would be an exaggeration, but their frequency waxed and waned in accordance with the other stressors in Connor's life. After the fallout with Ryan (which, thankfully, Ryan had not told anyone else about), they were the worst.

Connor hated himself. He hated how he felt and how he'd let his feelings slip so carelessly with Ryan. He hated how he couldn't change it, and how he just had to continually ignore his feelings and pretend to be something he wasn't. _This isn't how a person should have to live_, he thought. He had tried so hard for so long to make himself a better man, to exercise the agency given to him by Heavenly Father to mold himself into what a good Mormon man should be, instead of what he was: damaged and flawed and immoral.

On a chilly day in late April, about a month after the incident, Connor's parents were out shopping for the afternoon and he sat alone in his room, perched on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the back of the bedroom door. There was a thought in his head that he had been ruminating over for weeks now, years really, and he was determined to get it out and make it real.

After Ryan, he tried to deny it and gave one last shot at praying for change, but it was futile. He accepted that. He didn't know how he would proceed from there, but this was the first step.

He tried saying it out loud. "I—." The words got caught in his throat. He coughed and sputtered, paused, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I—I'm…"

He couldn't do it. He sighed and looked up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, left there from his childhood. He remembered, fondly, his seventh birthday, when his father stood on a step ladder in the middle of the room, sticking the stars to the ceiling. Connor sat cross-legged on the bed with a star chart in his lap, instructing his father where to place them to form constellations. He let the thought distract him for a moment, and reminisced about how one of the pale green stars had fallen and stuck itself to his father's bristly red moustache without him noticing, and how Connor didn't tell him, giggling about it to himself for the rest of the afternoon like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Connor winced and choked back a sob, thinking about how much he'd disappointed his dad. _No._ He shook his head to clear away the thought. _Try again_. He sucked in a breath. "I'm…" _No!_"I'm…ga—…" That was enough. His eyes immediately welled up with tears, and he collapsed onto the bed, rolling over on his side. He clutched his knees up to his chest and shut his eyes tight, willing himself not to cry. He wheezed with rapid, shallow breaths and felt like he was drowning. He tried to focus on his breathing: _In and out. Slower… In and out._

His breathing settled, and after a few minutes he felt calmer. _I'm fine…I'm fine._He felt some relief in being able to say it out loud. But then he thought about how even if he could say it to himself, he couldn't say it to anyone else. He still had to hide it. Hopelessness overcame him and his eyes welled again. He buried his face in the bed sheet and cried deep, wracking noiseless sobs.

* * *

><p>Connor was probably overreacting. In all reality, the other Elders likely didn't notice how he snuck glances at Elder Price across the breakfast table, how he got irritated more easily when they had difficulty with their work because he wanted to show the new missionary that his district was successful and that he was a good leader. Nonetheless, it bothered him that he couldn't shake his focus from Elder Price and that it was affecting his work. Connor was 289 days into his mission when Elder Price arrived and succeeded in throwing him entirely off balance.<p>

To Connor, Elder Price was equal parts exasperating and fascinating. Connor had known him for less than a day when his mind began to fixate on the new missionary. Elder Price was larger than life—he was impossible to ignore. Elder Price was determined and committed; Connor admired that. The young man, almost a year his junior, was bright and driven, and by all accounts excelled at his training. He was also undeniably handsome, an observation that Connor tried diligently to ignore.

But Elder Price was narcissistic and selfish at times, putting himself before the mission. Maybe he wasn't smug or self-satisfied, but he was confident—very confident. He projected an air of 'aw, shucks' humbleness and charm, but it was clear to Connor that Elder Price thought he was the best. At everything. But it seemed that he hadn't had much of a challenge to that claim. Connor could tell when they first met that Elder Price had never truly been tested—things had always come so easily for him in life that he had never faced a challenge that strengthened his faith and gave him a more enduring bond with Christ. So while Elder Price professed a true and selfless desire to spread the word and bring people to the Church, there was a part of him that was in it to make himself look good. To that end, he had trouble respecting and working with the other Elders, particularly his companion Elder Cunningham. Elder Price was out to change the world all on his own.

That hubris frustrated Connor. He knew that Elder Price could do incredible things if he'd only find the strength from Heavenly Father to focus and be more humble. "Forgetting yourself and going to work": that was the theme of their last zone conference (before Price and Cunningham had arrived), when the Mission President had taught about using time wisely and realizing how much more the missionaries could accomplish if they made a point of always moving and interacting every moment of the day, always in the purpose of furthering their mission. Elder Price could learn a lot from that lesson.

This simultaneous attraction and repulsion to another person was new to Connor. But…he liked it. It excited him in a way he hadn't experienced before. It wasn't necessary sexual excitement, although Connor conceded that it was partly that. (When Connor first laid eyes on Elder Price he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, and an almost inaudible "O. M. Gosh," escaped from his lips. He knew this would be trouble.)

No, it was more of a desire to figure out Elder Price, to understand the _Why?_and _How?_ of Elder Price. He was drawn to him, like he was compelled to put together the puzzle that was Elder Kevin Michael Price from Provo in order to unlock something special that was inside, just for him. It didn't really make sense to him. He hadn't even had the chance to spend much time with the young man—Connor was busy trying to prepare for the Mission President's visit and Elder Price had barely been seen by any of the Elders. Elder Price had gotten scared and ran off, abandoning his companion on his second day at site. Then, after being discovered passed out at the bus station, he fled again and something awful happened (Connor didn't know what at the time) because when Elder Cunningham brought him back to the living quarters that evening, Price was surly and uncommunicative.

Still, Connor found himself thinking about Elder Price a lot. Maybe he was meant to guide him to be a better missionary. Connor wondered if perhaps that was what Heavenly Father intended. But that didn't explain the other feelings.

The fact that most of the time Elder Price infuriated Connor (and he was not usually quick to anger) made it easier to turn off his conflicting feelings of attraction, but they still crept to the fore at wholly inopportune times. It was an ongoing test of his self-control to actively file those feelings away and ignore them, but it was imperative that he do so. This jumble of distracting and conflicting feelings made Connor nervous. He wasn't fully equipped to handle it, and coupled with the stress resulting from the events during Elder Price's first week in Palaro, he did not feel like a very competent District Leader.

* * *

><p>In between those two extremes of being enthralled by and wanting to throttle Elder Price, there was another feeling that Connor noticed creeping into the back of his mind, and that was a feeling of affection tinged with pity. It was strange, considering everything that had happened.<p>

Over his first few days at site Elder Price had experienced more trauma than any one person should. In a single day he had been witness to a horrific, senseless murder, he had been brutally assaulted by the local warlord and he had lost his faith. Connor couldn't begin to imagine how Elder Price could possibly rebound from all of that. He hadn't even had time to talk with Elder Price much in those first few days, and he felt bad for not being able to lend an ear and lead him in the right direction.

Being sadistically violated by a fear-mongering thug was not an experience Connor would wish upon anyone. Elder Price had never spoken of the incident, and Connor felt too uncomfortable to ever bring it up with Price. It was something unspoken that nevertheless weighed heavily on Elder Price and, consequently, Connor's relationship with him.

Connor had only learned about it by chance when the doctor offhandedly mentioned it several days later. He pieced together the bits of information he had and constructed a more complete explanation of why Elder Price was behaving so erratically. He felt sick just thinking about it; he felt vindictive and angry and pitiful. Connor had a responsibility—and a strong personal desire—to protect Elder Price (like all of the Elders in his district) and he had clearly failed in this case.

Connor's heart ached for Elder Price, but he couldn't help but feel that it was, in a way, comeuppance for Price's behavior. No, that was a reprehensible thought. Elder Price had abandoned the mission, but when he tried to share with the warlord he was just doing what he thought was best. Perhaps he _had_ brought some of this upon himself and comported himself egoistically and without respect to others, but blaming him for what was already done was of no value. He was a victim and deserved respect and compassion. Connor could forgive him; that is what Heavenly Father would want, despite how Elder Price behaved.

Elder Price had acted with decidedly un-Christlike egotism and petulance, selfishly abandoning his companion and the mission because he was too cowardly and weak to face the challenges of their district, then he arrogantly thought he could convert the warlord because he was _so_incredible and deserving of everyone's praise and attention, then he had a complete crisis of faith because he had never before taken the time to understand what he believed and form a solid bond with God and the Church. Well…maybe it would take more prayer and thought in order for Connor to completely forgive Elder Price.

Still, over those first tumultuous days, Connor saw Elder Price change. He was so naïve, so _sure_ about his purpose and his faith when he arrived, even though he knew nothing about the world. For all the respect and honor lauded on Elder Price, he was young and he was still learning. Until this point, he had yet to experience much that led him to think critically about his faith and his life, and so these horrible events did provoke Price to reevaluate what he believed in: about people, about himself, and about his faith.

Being tested for the first time was difficult for Elder Price. All along Elder Price had believed that Heavenly Father would grant his every prayer, and he could sit back and watch all the pieces fall perfectly into place. Price had set lofty goals for himself and he worked hard to achieve them, but he didn't seem to fully understand the reality of the world. He had an excellent grasp on scripture, but Connor was uncertain if he had ever really stopped to consider if he _truly_ believed it, like he claimed to. It seemed that Elder Price just believed because he was told that good, moral, upstanding people believe and that if he believed (blindly) he would be rewarded. Despite its catalyst, introducing doubt into Elder Price's mind was healthy—it helped him grow.

* * *

><p>Elder Cunningham's ludicrous stories that he told the villagers, even if they were helpful, were abominations to the scripture. If Connor hadn't been so distracted by Elder Price's tantrums and the report to the Mission President he would have put a stop to it before it ever began instead of encouraging Elder Cunningham to handle it alone in a hasty attempt to get baptisms by any means necessary. He <em>should<em> have put a stop to it. It was a marvel that Elder Cunningham even made it out of MTC and was allowed out into the field at all.

Whatever Elder Cunningham had told the villagers, it had been successful—until the Mission President and his assistants paid a visit to Palaro. District 3 had gained converts but lost the support of the Church after the President saw the villagers demonstrate what they had learned from Elder Cunningham on Price and Cunningham's third day in the village. After the debacle with the 'pageant', the Elders were sure they would be excommunicated. The envoy from the Mission President's office hadn't said it explicitly, but the message that they were as far from being Latter-Day Saints as it gets was clear enough.

When the Mission President admonished them for shaming the Church, calling them failures and disappointments, Connor felt his heart drop to his stomach. Suddenly he was seventeen again: terrified, alone, guilty, humiliated. That was it, he thought. He had officially disgraced the Church. He would go back to the US and tell his parents he had failed as both a missionary and a man, he would be cast out of his home and his spiritual community, he'd go live with his Aunt Ruth in Michigan and he would probably start college, drop out, get a job at an office supply store and then soon after die from loneliness and shame. He wanted to die right then and there, that way he could avoid having to face his family again.

Later that afternoon, when Connor and most of the other Elders were already packing their things at the house, Elder Price burst through the front door and rushed down the hallway to Elder McKinley and Elder Thomas' room. Connor was emptying a wardrobe and laying piles of neatly pressed shirts into his suitcase on the floor. He heard Elder Price's shoes skid on the dusty concrete floor as he slid to stop abruptly at his room, and Connor turned around to look at him. "Why aren't you packing, too?" Connor asked, dejectedly.

"We can make things right again, I'm sure of it!"

"Didn't you hear? We've been shut down, Elder Price."

Elder Church chimed in from his bedroom across the hallway, "Yeah, we have go home."

"Well, who says we have to leave?" asked Elder Price.

Connor sat down on the bed and began sorting through a pile of unmatched socks. He was angry—angry at Elders Price and Cunningham for getting them into this mess and angry at himself for letting it happen. He let out an exasperated sigh and looked up at Elder Price, who stood awkwardly by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to another, wound up with energy. "The Mission President did, Kevin. What don't you understand about that? We're failures." A confused look flashed across Elder Price's face. He'd never heard Elder McKinley call him by his first name. Connor noticed, and responded brusquely, "What? We're not Elders anymore, we might as well call each other by our given names. We're done, finished, over with. Now…why don't you just go pack your things." He sighed again, sadly, and tossed a ball of socks into his open suitcase at the foot of the bed.

"No we're not done!" Elder Price countered with a petulant stomp of his foot. "We're not officially excommunicated until we've had a formal hearing with the Mission President, right? We just have to get a hearing in Kampala and then convince him how great it is that we've helped all these people."

"Elder, he saw the mockery that the villagers made of the scripture. There's no way he's going to change his mind about this."

"Come on, we have to at least try. I think it will work! We just have to explain it better. See, this is what Heavenly Father has been trying to show me all along through Elder Cunningham. Scripture doesn't change lives unless it's relatable. Elder Cunningham took the lessons from scripture and…adapted…them into stories that people could relate to, something that made sense in their lives." Elder Price gesticulated excited, trying to get his revelation across and speaking faster than his brain was processing. "All along I've been thinking that if I stick to, I mean if I just keep repeating scripture and just teach and teach and teach people will go 'Oh, yeah, yeah, I get it! I believe it!'—but that's not how it works! It's like—it's like not worrying about the long run or old stories, but focusing on what people need _right now_. And they need us! And we need it too!"

Connor cut him off. "—And I agree with you Elder Price, but that nice sentiment isn't going to change the mind of the Mission President. There's no use in fooling yourself. Besides, I thought you had doubts Heavenly Father even existed?"

"Not really. Well…I do I guess. Yes. I just—there are some things that don't make sense to me and I'm trying to figure them out. I guess I never really thought I was able to ask 'Hey, why is this the way this is and what do I actually believe about anything?' so I've got a lot on my mind. But _anyway_ I do know that if we talk to the Mission President we can change his mind. I'm sure of it!"

"I'm sorry, but I just don't believe that there is any way around this, Elder."

Elder Price shook his head in dismay. "I don't get it! I just don't get it! You always think that there's hope, that there's a way to make things better. I just thought that you…you would believe. So why can't we try some way to fix this?" he pleaded.

Connor didn't say anything in response, he just threw his hands up in the air and shrugged in sad resignation.

"Well… I just don't get why you're afraid of this challenge."

Connor reeled his head to glare at Elder Price and snapped at him, "Elder Price this is the first time you've ever been challenged in your entire gosh darn life. You can't fix everything by yourself. You'll learn that even with a positive attitude, there are some things you can't change. You just have to accept it make the best of a bad situation."

"Well I just don't agree. And I think we can make things right again. I've _got_ to help fix this. Not just by myself, but us together… I mean all of us."

Connor sighed for the umpteenth time. He cocked his head to the side and sat for several moments studying Elder Price's face, trying to figure him out. Elder Price waited expectantly for a response. "You're serious." Elder Price nodded eagerly. "You really believe this can all be turned around." He nodded again and showed that charming toothy grin of his.

"Yeah! Of course I'm serious." Connor cracked a tiny smile as Elder Price continued. "I believe in us. I mean, this is what I was meant to do. Me and you and Elder Cunningham and all of us."

The room was silent for a minute. Elder Price waited with baited breath. Connor was deep in thought, then let out a sardonic laugh and stood up. "Fine," he said defiantly. "Screw the Church. Why don't we stay?"

Elder Price's eyes grew wide with surprise at Connor's language, then he grinned and began to laugh as well.

* * *

><p>The next day, after a dozen phone calls to the Mission office, the Uganda Mission President agreed to a hearing. Connor and Elder Cunningham—as the District Leader and main instigator, respectively—were summoned to a meeting with the President's office in Kampala to explain what had happened. They left that evening, and on the long, sweaty, crowded, dusty overnight bus ride to the capital, Connor coached Elder Cunningham and drilled him about exactly what he should say. He couldn't afford to 'exaggerate' any further.<p>

Connor was scrambling at this point. He trusted Elder Price's plan, but he still had a knot of guilt and anxiety in his chest and he knew that it was terrible to lie. He was digging himself deeper into a hole that was already too deep to climb out of, but none of the Elders could face being dishonored by the Church and since there wasn't much that could possibly make the situation worse, he might as well try to make things right.

Miraculously, whatever the two young men said in the meeting seemed to patch things up. Connor could barely recall what had happened between when he entered and exited the Mission President's office. It was a nauseating blur. When he sat down to face the President and his two assistants, he thought he might pass out. He hadn't slept on the bus and all he had eaten that morning was a half-bowl of porridge at the terminal. His palms sweated, he shivered from the unfamiliar air conditioning, his jacket felt too tight and his mind was swimming.

Elder Cunningham fielded the President's questions with surprising deftness and stuck to their script: that the converts in Palaro had attended the proper number of spiritual meetings in a row, they knew (some) of the correct teachings, and they were committed to the Church. The pageant that they performed was merely a loving homage, showing how the story of Joseph Smith and the foundation of the Church paralleled their journey to Christ and spiritual enlightenment. The content of the play was _obviously_metaphorical, overlaying the challenges and obstacles that they faced Uganda on those of the early Latter-Day Saints. The villagers didn't actually _believe_those stories, they were merely _parables_.

Connor didn't know how, but that had worked. Somehow, the Mission President found the explanation compelling enough to be true, and even praised them for being innovative and making scripture more "relatable to the African context." Connor suspected that the Mission President just didn't want to be blamed for mismanaging the new district and not overseeing them closely enough, but he would take clemency any way it was given. Still, the Church was not pleased with how they had let a village of people get baptized without following procedure, and so they laid down several new requirements for the Elders in District 3.

First of all they would be swapping some of the companions. Elder Price and Elder Neeley would from now on oversee the teaching in the village, given their superior knowledge of scripture; Connor would oversee investigator interviews and all of the villagers would have to be 'rebaptized' following correct protocol; and Elder Cunningham would be confined to strictly humanitarian mission work (physical labor, health extension and trauma counseling), given how he had so extraordinarily bungled teaching about the Mormon faith. Connor, still in the capacity of District Leader, would be submitting additional weekly reports for the following six months while the Elders were on 'probation', after which time they would be reevaluated.

Elder Cunningham was despondent on the ride home. He couldn't bear being parted with his new best friend. Connor assured him that, despite what the Mission President ordered, Elder Price and Elder Cunningham would remain companions—they would just report to the Church with the new companion arrangement. And of course he would still preach with the villagers. They trusted and listened to Elder Cunningham, and that was most important to forming a relationship between the community and the Church. Connor would just have to alter some details in the weekly reports. Given all the lies the had already told to the Mission President, he didn't mind telling a few more for the sake of the Elders' happiness and ability to continue in their work.

They arrived late in the evening, while the others were just finishing dinner. When they shared the news with the other Elders, they were met with restrained enthusiasm. The probationary period would be tough, but they were overjoyed to be able to stay in Palaro and remain Latter-Day Saints.

Elders Michaels and Zelder, who were apprehensive about Arnold's stories from the beginning, had already asked to be transferred back to Kampala. They said their quick, uncomfortable goodbyes and departed on the overnight bus. That left eight elders plus the twenty villagers who had already been (and would be soon a second time) baptized. It was a decent number to start proselytizing to nearby villages and sharing the lessons from the Book of Mormon, and its new supplement, the Book of Arnold.


	3. Part III: These Things

**Part III : These Things We Know To Be True**

The night that Connor arrived back in Palaro from the meeting in Kampala, Elder Price came to see him in the study. Connor referred to it as the study, but really it was a closet-sized alcove off of the kitchen—previously used to store canned goods and cleaning supplies—where he had set up an old school desk and chair against the back wall. He appreciated having a small niche to himself where he could work; in a house of eight men it was sometimes difficult to find a quiet, secluded space.

It was 10pm and Elder Thomas had already gone off to bed; Connor was catching up on some paperwork and reports to the Mission President. Price knocked tentatively on the wall and Connor perked his head up.

"Can I talk to you about something, Elder McKinley?" Elder Price asked.

"Of course, sure." Connor shuffled some papers together and turned his chair around to face Elder Price.

Elder Price crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder back against the wall. He was acting casually, but he looked tense and hesitant. "OK, well this is pretty—I don't know. It's clearly blasphemous to question…" He fumbled for what to say.

Connor reassured him, "Elder, we've had plenty of experience with blasphemy this week. We've had our Church membership called into question. I wouldn't worry about sounding blasphemous."

"Point taken. So do you ever…have you ever doubted that Heavenly Father listens to us? Or that He even exists?"

Connor exhaled slowly. "That is a big question." He paused for a moment and gave Elder Price a look of sympathy. "Well…yes, I have."

"What did you do about it?"

"Well… When I had doubts I looked to scripture. I prayed. I took a look at my own life and evaluated what I really believed. We know that doubt and fear are opposed to faith, obviously, but sometimes…sometimes doubt can lead us to a better understanding of faith by provoking us to study. Your faith in Jesus Christ can grow as you become better acquainted with Him and His

teachings."

"But what if those teachings don't make sense, like they sound insane? Like crazy cuckoo bananas and coconuts insane."

Connor frowned. "That's something to decide for yourself, I suppose. You can choose whether or not to believe."

"I don't know…" Elder Price leaned his head back against the wall, thinking about how to proceed. He let out an irritated huff. "I didn't expect it to be like this. I mean, I've only been here five days, but I didn't expect it to be like this. I expected to come on my mission and through _sheer power of will and scripture_ be able to bring people to the Church. I guess I thought that if I just believed what I was taught then my prayers would be answered and if I worked hard enough Heavenly Father would reward me. But now…I just don't understand how…I mean, there are incredible, _miraculous_things, like seeing how happy the villagers are now with something to believe in, but… If He exists, how he can not answer people's prayers and let such terrible things happen to people who believe in Him… Do you think that Heavenly Father answers all prayers?"

"Honestly? Well, I believe that He hears all prayers. And, yes, that he does answer them. But that often we don't understand or can't perceive His answer. Does that make sense? I think often He wants us to figure things out on our own. And that sometimes we don't immediately—or ever—get what we want—or think we want—because He wants us to choose a different path. I'm not saying that bad things happen for a reason…just that bad things happen."

"Not to be rude, Elder McKinley, but that's not very satisfying."

Connor sighed. "I know."

Elder Price half-smile faded away; he looked positively heartbroken. He unfolded his arms and eased himself down to sit on the concrete floor, his back against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him nearly touching the opposite wall. He rested his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "So if believing doesn't prevent bad things from happening, then what's the point?"

"Aside from everything we've been taught from birth? …I guess for me, you have to choose to believe because it brings meaning to your life and makes you a better person, not just to get some reward at the end or that it'll magically make everything better."

"So…do you believe in everything the Church says?"

Connor sat quietly for a few moments, debating how to answer. "Well, do you want the District Leader answer, or the 'we were almost excommunicated and I have had a very difficult week' answer?"

"The latter."

"OK…" Connor took a deep breath. "When I had doubts in the past, I took time to thoughtfully and prayerfully understand what I truly believed regarding the Church's teachings. I believe with my whole heart that the Church is true and real and right. And that I want to share my faith with others because I want them to feel that joy and be saved."

Connor stood up, carefully pushed his chair into the desk, and sat down next to Elder Price. He leaned his back against the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees. He continued, "Especially, like this week, seeing how Elder Cunningham's _ridiculous_ stories gave the villagers hope, something to believe in…faith isn't meant to restrict, it's meant to soothe and lift people up. There are…some things from Church doctrine that I disagree with. I know that that's not…right. But that's what I believe, and it doesn't change the way I feel about God or how I think He feels about me." Connor surprised himself with his honesty, and felt a pang of apprehension at how open he was suddenly being.

Elder Price turned to look at Connor, perplexed. "How do you rationalize that?"

"I guess…I believe that God had made me—each of us—for a purpose, and therefore God loves me and wants me to be happy and share Christ's light. But that the Church—and even though Heavenly Father reveals himself to Latter-Day Saints—the Church is run by people and it can make mistakes or misinterpret."

"That's a very bold statement. Isn't that hypocritical? I don't see how you could still believe in the Church if you disagree with it and find it fallible," Elder Price said incredulously.

"I understand what you mean. I suppose I believe that the Church can and will adapt and change as it has done in the past, that sometimes it takes time to figure out Heavenly Father's will and that not everyone will get it correct right away or people will try to impose their interpretation on others. These things that we know to be true, maybe not everyone believes it or accepts at first, it sometimes takes time."

The two sat without speaking for several minutes, both lost in thought. Connor broke the silence, and asks tentatively but pointedly, "So what do you believe, Elder Price?"

Elder price crossed his arms again and furrowed his brow. "I don't know. I guess I still believe that Heavenly Father exists and all that…and I _think_ I can see what His purpose is for me…but I can't reconcile the gospel with some of the Church's stories and rules and doctrines. I _want_to believe. I guess I'm still working through what I said I believed and figuring out if I really do believe it, you know?"

"I know what you mean," Connor replied with a tinge of sadness in his voice. He reached a hand out, wanting to comfort Elder Price and put an arm around him, but then withdrew, feeling it was too impulsive. He gave Elder Price a quick, reassuring pat on the shoulder. "And it's OK. You know you can talk to me or your companion about this kind of thing any time. Despite… everything that's happened lately, you're a real asset to our district, and I want you to be comfortable coming to us to help find the answers that you're looking for. I know how it is; it takes time to figure out who you are and what you believe."

A wide and wholly appreciative smile spread across Elder Price's face, and Connor couldn't help it; his heart melted. With that tiny, insignificant look, Connor had forgiven him.

* * *

><p>The next night Elder Price took Connor up on his offer, seeking him out in the study after personal reflection time. Normally, Elder Price would have preferred to spend time alone and resolve this on his own, but he had to admit that his first talk with Connor made him feel more relaxed, and it was comforting to have someone with whom to share his concerns, doubts and questions.<p>

Elder Price had lost some of the self-assuredness that had so defined him when he arrived in Palaro, but he still maintained a level of bravado that both unnerved and intrigued Connor. During the day Elder Price and Elder Neeley began a crash course in scripture with the soon-to-be rebaptized villagers and Connor conducted individual interviews with the investigators, while the other Elders headed up community service projects like rebuilding the west wall of the clinic that had recently collapsed and providing trauma counseling. Elder Price dove headlong into the teaching appointments, and Connor had to continually remind him to share the task with Elder Neeley, rather than take over the work all on his own.

Price wanted to be the world's greatest missionary and be responsible for converting everyone by himself. Sharing credit was not a skill with which he was very familiar. He still frustrated Connor, but knowing that the young man was struggling with his faith led Connor to be more sympathetic towards him.

That evening they sat across from one another on dusty floor of the cramped study and talked for hours past curfew, lost in conversation. Connor reveled in having someone new with whom to spar and swap stories. Though Elder Price seemed lacking in personal testimony, he was well-read and not averse to sharing his opinions. While Connor cared deeply about his companion, he confessed to himself that Elder Price was very different than Elder Thomas, in a way that he appreciated. Elder Thomas was gentle, sweet, conciliatory and warm; he chose his words carefully and didn't like to speak rashly or to offend. These qualities made him an outstanding and compassionate missionary and friend, but Connor sometimes tired of rarely being challenged or intellectually stimulated by him or any of the other Elders.

Elder Price stimulated him. That night they talked about everything. They shared their beliefs, argued about the meaning of scripture and discussed what they really hoped to accomplish in Uganda. The two swapped information about their pre-Ugandan lives: their families (Price: three brothers and a sister, Connor: an older sister), their hometowns (Provo, Utah and Celina, Ohio), their favorite subjects in school (Price: History, Connor: Physics and English), their professed favorite movies (Price: Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, Connor: North by Northwest), their actual favorite movies (Price: Aladdin, Connor: Casablanca). They compared the foods they missed most from back home, their biggest frustrations about living in Uganda and their thoughts about their progress in the village.

Much of it was superficial, but Connor was oddly proud of himself that he was opening up, however superficially, to someone new; that was usually so difficult for him. He felt relieved to be able to share about himself, and to learn more about Elder Price. It was encouraging to know that under that bafflingly perfect head of hair there was a real person inside Elder Price, not just the self-proclaimed 'Super Mormon'. Connor cared about Elder Price—he wanted Price to figure himself out and live up to the potential he knew Price had—and if seeking Connor's counsel (and friendship) helped him do that, Connor was more than happy to oblige.

When Elder Price first arrived, Connor got the sense that the new missionary didn't really respect him or the other Elders. Being so looked down upon hurt, but he chalked it up to a bit of Price's haughtiness and he could certainly understand Price's reasoning. The district had failed to secure any baptisms in the months preceding Elder Price's and Cunningham's arrival, and that reflected poorly on Connor and the other Elders. Connor was determined to show the new missionaries that District 3 was capable, and in the haste to impress both Elder Price and the Mission President, they fast-tracked baptisms that almost got them excommunicated. He was not proud of what he had done, but he was glad that he was able to clear things up with the Mission President and clean up the mess for which he was, in significant part, responsible. Now, Connor hoped that as Price got to know him and the other Elders, he would be able to work with them as a team.

He also hoped…for some other things. It was two o'clock in the morning when Connor absentmindedly glanced at his watch and realized—shocked—that he and Elder Price had been talking for so long. Sheepishly, he hastily took his leave (though he didn't want to go), slunk back to his bedroom and silently changed and slipped into bed, taking care not to rouse his companion. Lying awake, Connor reflected upon the fact that he couldn't help but feel _good_ around Elder Price. He felt invigorated. He felt like he could be cunning and clever and interesting, even when—especially when—they got into heated discussions about belief or other subjects.

But the way he felt around Elder Price concerned him. He didn't like what is said about the weakness his own character that one person could cause him to feel so differently. He didn't know how to reconcile these conflicting feelings of confidence and vulnerability.

Sometimes when Elder Price looked at him with those deep brown eyes, Connor was unable to catch his breath. He felt his skin prickle and his chest tighten, and he felt flushed and exposed. It was wonderful and excruciating at the same time. He rolled over on his side in bed and clutched the sheet to his chest, hugging himself tightly, smiling as recalled the sensation. He thought about Elder Price's warmth, his smell…imagined what his lips might taste like…wondered how it would feel to have their bodies pressed tightly together, no space to breathe or think or worry.

The bliss only lasted a moment—feelings of guilt crept in, pulling him from his reverie, and Connor berated himself for being too emotional. I_t's just lust_, he told himself, _just ignore it. Don't let it distract you_._Thoughts are natural but they lead to immoral behavior and you can't do that—not here, not with him—so just Turn. It. Off._

* * *

><p>That night he had the nightmare again, as he anticipated he would, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it was when he was younger. Still, he woke up in a cold sweat at five a.m., restless and anxious, and blearily got up for the day. The other elders were still asleep, as they usually were when Connor awoke.<p>

He went through his morning routine: bucket shower, dress, check the pantry for millet, milk, eggs and sugar, go for a run around the east side of the village, pick up bananas at the market, return to the house, another shower, dress, put water on to boil for porridge, set out fruit and a stack of bowls on the table for the others, and finally read and journal in the front room and wait for the others to wake. Connor liked the routine of missionary life—it was unbearably dull some days, but he found it comforting to know that even in Uganda when there were always unexpected challenges, he had a handle on at least one part of his own life.

He nearly fell back asleep on the couch, exhausted after only three hours' rest, and shook with a start when Elder Thomas tapped him on the shoulder and greeted him with a cheery, "Good morning, Elder!" Connor quickly oriented himself, gathered his journal and books that had spilled to the floor, and replied, "Yes, good morning Elder Thomas. How did you sleep?"

"Oh, just great!" he beamed, munching on a pre-breakfast poptart. "Is it true that we might be ready to actually go ahead with the baptisms at the end of the week and then we'll be able to go out tracting to other villages? I'm so excited!"

"Yes, hopefully, if all of the interested villagers keep showing up to appointments as scheduled, they'll be eligible for baptism in a few days, maybe Friday." Elder Thomas beamed even wider, and bound off to the kitchen in the back of the house.

After breakfast Connor studied with Elder Thomas, then they all departed for teaching, contacting and service projects. It was a long and tiring day, but he was heartened that all of the villagers seeking to be baptized (again) into the Church had shown up and were participating enthusiastically in the scripture study, even the General. While the larger group studied together in the stuffy, humid meeting house, Connor met outside on the porch with applicants individually to answer questions about baptism and evaluate their commitment to the Church.

He was relieved that his last appointment of the day was with Nabulungi, Mafala's only daughter who worked part-time as a seamstress. She was the closest thing he had to a friend outside of the Elders. Nabulungi was an anomaly in the village, a marvel really. She was one of the few young women left in the village who was not married with several children or moved to the city to find work. At 18, she was also one of the few women her age who had finished high school; it was a promise she'd made to her mother before the woman had passed away. Her mother had died giving birth to Nabulungi's younger brother (the child died several days later). Mafala was her only remaining family, and they were very protective of one another.

Nabulungi was an idealistic young woman—a bit flighty and naïve, but with a keen ability to read people and an infectious smile—who had rallied the other villagers around the idea of baptism after Elder Cunningham began preaching. She was one of the few people who would actually talk to Connor when he first arrived in Palaro, and became a sort of confidante and village liaison for him.

They sat in dusty plastic chairs on the front porch of the meeting house, shaded by the overhanging rusted tin roof, discussing the progress made towards baptisms and what they'd need to do next to prepare the new Latter-Day Saints to begin tracting on their own. When there was a lull in the conversation, Nabulungi leaned over and put a gentle hand on Connor's arm. "Elder McKinley, you look very tired," she observed sympathetically.

"Yes, well…I didn't sleep very well last night, I suppose. And today has been a long day. Plus I just have a lot on my mind."

"Ah, I see. Do you want to talk to me about it?" She flashed him a sweet smile. "My friends say I am a _very_ good listener. Elder Cunningham says so, too."

"No, no, it's nothing. I've just been distracted lately, with all that's going on—it's been very busy and I don't want to slack on any of my duties. We have a lot to accomplish before our six-month review and I can't afford to make any mistakes in my work."

Nabulungi nodded understandingly, then said, "Elder McKinley, you worry too much about your work."

"Well…of course I do!" he spat, "I have to. The last time I let things slip we almost got thrown out of the Church!"

"It was not your fault, Elder McKinley. And everything, it is better now!" Connor looked at her incredulously. "It _is_ better! Just look how happy everyone is." Nabulungi motioned to the window behind him, and Connor craned his head back to look inside the meetinghouse. Everyone _was_ happy—Elder Price was standing at the front of the room with a Book of Mormon in his hand, gesturing excitedly, and the villagers, packed together on wooden benches, were enraptured, hanging on his every word. It was incredible.

"You should not worry so much," she continued while he remained watching the lesson inside. "The others are very capable; they will know what to do. You know, you told me about how it frustrates you that Elder Price will take over the work of the others, but you do the same, too."

"I—…" Connor snapped his head back and began to object, but then stopped short and sighed in resignation.

"You are putting a lot of…pressure—is that right?—on yourself. It is too much. You will make yourself sick by trying to worry about everything."

Connor looked down, a bit embarrassed because he knew she was right. He fidgeted with his tie, not wanting to look at her. "You know," Nabulungi said after a few moments, "They are good men."

"Who are?"

"Elder Price and Elder Cunningham…I know you think they have made some mistakes, but they are good men and they are really helping our town." Connor looked up to see her gazing wistfully across the street, where Elder Cunningham was helping Gotswana carry a large wooden table into the clinic. The chubby, awkward young man fumbled comically and struggled to keep a grip on the table, nearly dropping it.

Connor turned back to face Nabulungi and chuckled. "Well, I already know how _you_ feel about Elder Cunningham."

Nabulungi giggled girlishly and a wide, bashful smile spread across her face. "Yes, yes, that is true." She paused for a moment. "But Elder Price is a good man, also. He is still learning, and he truly wants to help us."

Connor craned his head back again to look inside the meetinghouse. "I know…" he sighed, watching Elder Price squat down next to Kimbay to share his book with her.

"He can be very…confident, this is true. But you will like him if you get to know him."

"Believe me, I get it."

Nabulungi smirked and replied coyly, "Oh, I know that you do."

Connor cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. Then, a split-second later he understood and a feeling of dread washed over him. He stared at Nabulungi, wide-eyed, mouth agape and horrified. His cheeks blushed redder than his hair. She giggled coquettishly.

A million questions raced through his mind; he started to respond but nothing came out. He sputtered, "No, I don't—… But—… How—…? What—…? I never—… When did you—…?" He trailed off, then, avoiding eye contact, said sheepishly, "Just…don't tell anyone, OK?"

She smiled warmly. "Of course, Elder McKinley. You are my friend."

"Does…anyone else…?" Connor mumbled a half question. His mind spun, wracked with worry.

"Oh no, I am sure of it."

"Well…I guess that's something…" he said sadly.

"You know, I said to you, you should not worry so much. You should do what makes you to feel happy."

"_You don't understand_," Connor pleaded. He bent forward toward Nabulungi, so as not to raise his voice. "I can't _be_ who I'm supposed to _be_. Anywhere. Least of all here. Because of this country, because of this mission and because of my faith, I _can't_ let others know. I may accept it, but that doesn't mean I feel good about it and it doesn't mean that anyone else can accept it. And doing _anything_ is definitely not allowed for anyone,_ever_, especially for me and especially on mission. I—I don't even _know_ what would make me happy." He wiped a hand down his face in aggravation and collapsed back into his chair.

Nabulungi took Connor's hand in hers and held it protectively. She tapped his chin up gently to make sure he looked at her as she spoke. "You are right. I do not know what it is like. But I do know that I accept you and I believe the others will too. I know it is against the rules, and you do not have to tell them, but you can believe that if you _did_tell them they would not judge you. Elder Cunningham taught us that passing judgment is a sin and that on the Starship Enterprise the Heavenly Father created every one of us to be special, so we must love each person as they are made."

Connor laughed in spite of himself. "Hah, yes, Elder Cunningham is a fine teacher…" he said sarcastically. He shook his head, frowning, then buried his face in his hands with a frustrated groan. "Oh _gosh_, this is all going too fast. Everything's falling apart."

"What is?"

"All of it, everything! You…no one else knows this. I've never told anyone. Strictly speaking, I still haven't told _you_. I just…I can't. And then we have all this work to do and I just can't get a handle on what to think about El—" He stopped short and spun around in his chair when he heard the door to the meetinghouse creak open; the villagers began filing out, chattering excitedly.

Connor looked down at his watch. "Oh, gosh, it's five o'clock. We've got to head back to the living quarters." Connor stood and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He started after the other Elders, then paused and turned back to Nabulungi. "…Thanks," he said with a weak smile. "For not telling anyone, I mean…and for listening."

* * *

><p>Connor felt so uncomfortable and conspicuous at dinner that he claimed a headache (which was not technically a lie) and retreated to his room. He couldn't bear to put on a cheery façade for the Elders, and he felt too awkward to even look at Elder Price, lest the others somehow infer something between them. He lay on top of his bed, still in his dress shirt, tie and slacks, trying to sort through his thoughts. With some perspective now, he could admit to himself that he was relieved to be able to talk to Nabulungi about it, but mortified that she had been able to tell just through observation, and absolutely terrified of the possibility that others could know.<p>

So what to do now? Connor was too overwhelmed. Where was that self-control he'd worked so hard to cultivate over the last ten months? He had to be more cautious—he couldn't afford to slip up and cause any problems for the mission or the other Elders.

It was astounding to him that, for the first time, he didn't feel _quite_so nauseated and guilty to be having these thoughts about a man. He still had pangs of shame for even imagining acting on them, but he didn't feel as wretched as he had in the past. However much Elder Price perplexed and irritated him, Connor did _like_him, and Connor liked the way he felt around Elder Price.

Still, there was no use pining after something he couldn't attain; he couldn't let his feelings show as they apparently had with Ryan and have the same sort of backlash, not when they had to live and work together for another year. His stomach lurched just thinking about Ryan. He closed his eyes tight, clasped his hands together, resting them on his forehead and exhaled slowly. _Breathe out._No, he couldn't make any mistakes.

Whispering to himself, he said a short, plaintive prayer asking for strength and support. _Heavenly Father, I accept that I have these thoughts and that I can't turn them off, not entirely, but immoral thoughts lead to sinful behavior and I need Your help to stay strong and resist the temptation to act on my thoughts so that I can continue to glorify You in this mission. Please, I need Your guidance. …Please. Please. …Please._He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

There was a tentative knock at the bedroom door. Connor thought for a moment of feigning sleep so he could be left alone, but decided against it. _I'm the District Leader and I have to be available to the other Elders at all times._ "Yes?" he called.

From the other side of the door he heard in reply, "Uh…It's Elder Price. Are you doing OK, Elder McKinley?"

_Oh no, the last person I need right now._ "Yes, I'm doing fine, much better, thanks, Elder. Just a headache."

"Oh, well, uh, that's good!" There was silence for a few seconds, then, "…Do you think I could come in for a minute?"

_No no no no no._ "Yes, of course, Elder." With great effort, Connor sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hastily ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to look less disheveled, just as Elder Price opened the door and stepped into the room. He had a big smile plastered across his face.

Elder Price set himself down beside Connor, rattling the rickety bed frame. "Yes, please, sit down…" Connor mumbled to himself after the fact.

"Here!" Elder Price said excitedly, thrusting a small plate with a stack of caramel-colored diamond-shaped sweets into Connor's hands. "Sister Kimbay brought over some cookies a few minutes ago. She said she wanted to thank all of us for the lesson today and you especially for talking with her this morning."

"Oh!" Connor's smile warmed, taking the plate. "Kashata, these are my favorite. Thanks." He was touched by the gesture, and for a moment let himself feel a bit of pride and thought, _Yes, maybe we are doing something right in Palaro._ He took one of the cookies and set the plate on his nightstand. Connor looked back at Elder Price awkwardly. "Is there…something you wanted to talk about, Elder Price?"

"Well…I was wondering if you could give me some pointers on how to answer some of the questions that are coming up in the study sessions with the villagers, about how such terrible things can continue to happen to them even if they believe? I mean, I can point them to scripture, but I don't really know how to give them a satisfactory answer to why their mother died from AIDS or why their son was kidnapped by the LRA guerillas. I mean, how do you explain that "Heavenly Father still loves you' when someone's home was just burned to the ground and four of their children have died of dysentery?"

"You're…asking for my advice? _And_ admitting you don't know something?"

"Yeah. You're the District Leader; you've got a good handle on things here." Price stopped.  
>"…You look confused."<p>

"No, I just…" Connor chuckled and shook his head. "It's just—out of character, is what it is. Sorry."

They talked for a long while. Elder Price listened attentively as Connor shared with him what he could about relating scripture to the endemic problems in the village. He didn't have any real solutions or answers, but he could pass on some insights he'd gleaned from his ten months in Uganda. When he'd finished, Elder Price got up to leave and stopped at the door, saying, "I'm glad I've been able to talk these things out with you lately. You're…really good to talk to. I really appreciate you taking the time."

"Oh, well…thank you, Elder Price." Connor blushed slightly. "That means a lot to me." Elder Price clicked the door shut behind him, and Connor fell back on the bed, his legs dangling off the side. He pressed his palms into his eyes for long moment, then intertwined his fingers behind this head. _Turning it off is going to be so difficult._


	4. Part IV: Break It Down

**Part IV: Break It Down, Build It Back Up**

Connor thought he had done a fine job of avoiding Elder Price the next day. It was P-Day, and he'd gone into Galu with Elder Thomas early in the morning to send the Elders' letters back home and email his reports to the Mission President. They bought groceries and supplies for the house and didn't get back to the village until late in the evening, after waiting three hours for a bus. When they returned to the house, Connor busied himself with washing the dishes while the others played cards in the sitting room.

It was easier this way, he told himself, just avoiding distraction altogether; if he avoided seeing Elder Price, he could avoid thinking about Elder Price and then everything would be much more manageable. He had a job to occupy his time and a great deal of responsibility to shoulder if he wanted to have the villagers ready for baptism by Friday. Even if Nabulungi was right and he _did_ worry too much about his work, what was the harm in that? His fastidiousness imparted no ill effects on the others, just on himself.

That was the choice he made by being a missionary. There was this potential inside of himself that he was compelled to live up to, to prove that he was a good Mormon, a bright student and a capable leader, and that meant doing as much as he possibly could to make the mission succeed. He couldn't bear to let others see him as a failure or to see himself as a failure; it was a compulsion he couldn't shake, no matter how damaging he recognized it was.

Avoiding Elder Price was not entirely successful, unfortunately. A short while later that evening, Price stopped Connor as he was carrying a bucket of dirty dishwater outside and Connor bristled, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from Elder Price as possible.

"Can I ask you something real quick?" Elder Price inquired.

"Sure," Connor replied, shifting the heavy bucket under his arm, trying to show that he was in a rush.

"So, I was thinking about what we were talking about the other day; when you said that there were parts of Church doctrine that you disagreed with, which parts did you mean?"

"Oh, nothing important really," Connor said, waving his free hand dismissively. "Just some odds and ends, parts about which the Church will eventually become more progressive."

"Like what?"

"Really," Connor laughed, as if it were entirely too frivolous, "It's not necessary to go into detail right now."

"I'm not going to judge you for whatever you disagree with about the Church. Goodness knows I disagree with a lot."

"Such as?"

"Well now you're just deflecting," Price said stubbornly. "Come on, I really want to know what you think. What, is it about mission work?"

"No really, it's nothing." He was too flustered by the suddenness of the conversation to think up a suitable lie.

"Come on, you can tell me."

"No, I can't."

"I don't care what it is, I'm just curious. You can tell me."

Connor snapped, trying not to raise his voice, "No, I mean I _physically_ cannot tell you. I am _incapable_ of telling you. Please…" Connor looked up and met Elder's Price's eyes. "Please just drop it."

Elder Price winced. He turned away, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."

Connor shook his head and sighed. He took a step toward Elder Price and laid a hand on his shoulder. Price turned around to face him. "No, it's not your fault. There are just some things I'm not comfortable talking about." Connor flashed him a small smile. "Don't worry about it, really, it's nothing."

He carried the bucket outside and dumped the water into the ditch. Returning to the house, he left the bucket in the kitchen and snuck into his room where Elder Thomas was already asleep. He quietly changed and slipped into bed feeling drained, pulling the sheet up over himself even though it was oppressively humid and still in the tiny room.

His mind reeled, reviewing his outburst with Elder Price, replaying each word over and over again; he had taken a grave misstep, he was sure of it. He revealed too much, or not enough. Either way, he felt nauseous about how it had happened.

_You should have told him, he wouldn't have judged you,_Connor thought to himself. But then another thought:_yes, he would have, he would have been repulsed._And then: _he must have already figured it out, you were so stupid and obvious._ Or maybe: _no, he doesn't know, just don't let him bring it up again._ He tossed and turned all night, unable to settle on any one of analysis of the situation.

* * *

><p>The next few days Connor was more careful and he did all he could to steer clear of Elder Price—he woke early, prepared lessons, booked back-to-back-to-back interviews and sessions, and didn't allow himself free time to think about much else but the upcoming baptisms. He did take Nabulungi's advice to contract out the necessary work to the other Elders, and they performed expertly. After the debacle with the pageant and the Mission President, Connor was unimaginably relieved that everything was coming together so well.<p>

The baptisms took place just after dawn on Friday. The early-morning sun streaked through the tree line, bathing the ramshackle tin roofs of Palaro's brick buildings and wooden huts and the dusty dirt roads with glittering orange light.

The Elders had woken early to set up a baptismal font in front of the meeting house—a plastic tarpaulin stretched across a meter-high ring of concrete blocks to form a makeshift pool, filled with buckets of boiled and sanitized water. It wasn't regulation, but little of what they did in the district was strictly regulation any more.

The day was already astoundingly hot and Connor sweated in his baptismal uniform, but he didn't mind. The villagers and Elders looked angelic and peaceful all dressed in white, gathered in the road between the clinic and the meeting house. They waited patiently for the rites to begin—the entire village was nearly silent, save for ever-present calls of goats and chickens.

Nabulungi was the first to be baptized, and the others looked on reverently. Elder Cunningham stepped into the font and held out his hand to help her in. She smiled serenely and gave his hand a small squeeze before she let go. Connor was worried that Elder Cunningham would fumble with the order for holy baptism, but he didn't. As he said the words, "Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost," he dipped her gently into the water and the crowd let out a tiny collective gasp, a cross between wonder and veneration. Elder Price stood by the side of the pool to witness, and he beamed proudly at his companion.

The Elders took turns baptizing the new Latter-Day Saints one by one—Connor baptized Mafala, Asmeret and Middala. When they'd finished, they prayed together and everyone departed, calmly and happily. It was still a work day, and the Elders returned to house to change into their usual uniforms and go back out into the village to work on some service projects and set up for the evening's festivities.

* * *

><p>It was the villagers' idea to have a feast celebrating their entry into the Church. They set up an awning outside of the living quarters, a colorful patchwork of bed sheets stretched across four bamboo poles dug into the ground. When it got dark they strung up the canopy with twinkling yellow electric lights that swayed and fluttered in the still-humid evening breeze. They pulled the mismatched tables and chairs from their own houses and set them up under the tent and laid out trays and plates and bowls of vegetables, steamed and boiled bananas, millet bread, sweet potatoes, stewed chicken, smoked and grilled meats, beans, fruits, sweets and cakes. It was a hodgepodge of smells and colors and furniture and housewares in various states of disrepair, but to Connor it looked heavenly.<p>

It was late in the evening, past sundown, when everyone had arrived. Connor was prodded by Nabulungi to say a few words, and he grudgingly obliged. He stood up on a rickety plastic chair, wavered a bit and cleared his throat to get the crowd's attention. He started hesitantly, "I'm so happy and honored to see how brightly the light of Christ shines in this town tonight. We are really blessed to be joined in one Church, one spiritual family."

He coughed as a lump got caught in his throat. "Um…I know that everyone in this town faces unbelievable hardships everyday, but with the love and strength that Heavenly Father gives us, and the support that we give one another by being bound together as one family, it's possible to persevere and…put our worries in God's hands. We don't have to carry it all on our own, we have people to watch over and care for each other and an unbending faith in a loving God and eternal salvation. So…this is really a wondrous night to be joined together in fellowship, and we should all thank the Heavenly Father for his blessings and for all the work that everyone has put in to be here tonight. Um…I guess, let's eat!"

The crowd clapped politely and people began clamoring for plates and food. Connor stepped down from the chair, feeling a little shaky. Nabulungi put a hand on his arm and whispered to him with a smile, "Elder McKinley, that was very nice!"

"Oh, gosh, no, it was nothing. I was just rambling," he stammered humbly.

She shook her head, smiling, and skipped off into the crowd. Connor was wiping his sweaty hands on the front of his black slacks when he felt someone push past him. The General barged up to the front of the tent and climbed up on the chair. "I wish to say something," he boomed. The tent went silent—every villager and Elder froze. The General nervously fingered the bullets in the bandolier slung across his chest and the crowd was tense—and just a bit terrified—waiting for him to speak.

"I was troubled before," he began loudly. He continued, each sentence like a bellowing, declarative gun shot. "I believed in my cause and the importance of attaining it by any means necessary. But my mind was troubled. The missionaries came and I was angry. They disturbed me and made me angry! I did not believe what they told to us. But my thoughts were troubled and I remembered what they said: 'You can ask God to know if what we have taught is true!' So I asked to God and he told me that He knew everything, and that He could permit everything to happen for good purposes.

"Many thoughts were coming into my mind. It was not easy to give up the struggle. I thought about the purposes of the revolution, and about what I was fighting for. Thoughts were continuing to come into my mind telling me that God was the master of everything. A feeling of peace came into my heart. And I felt less angry to believe that God is the master of all things. And I knew that it was good that I should be a soldier for peace, a soldier in the army of the Lord. That is what I believe."

The General grunted gruffly in conclusion, stepped down from the chair and walked away from the tent into the night. Everyone was awestruck, unable to comprehend that the General had just testified about his faith to a group of people he had until recently been terrorizing. It was unbelievable. Sister Kimbay broke the tense silence with a shout of, "Hurray! Let's eat!" and immediately the crowd was snapped out of their shock and back to the party. There was cheering and laughter. Someone clicked on a small sound system, and Kidandali music blared from a set of tinny speakers, upbeat and joyous.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, Elder Price found Connor out by the tree line, his hands crossed against his chest, looking up at the sky. Away from the lights of the tent, it was nearly pitch black and the stars stretched out to the horizon, illuminating the tops of the acacia trees. "Hey, I was looking for you at the party," Elder Price said, walking up behind Connor.<p>

"Oh, yeah, I just wanted to get away for a bit, clear my head," Connor responded, still staring up at the night sky. Elder Price came and stood next to him. He didn't say anything for a few moments. The rumble of the generator and the pulsing beat of the music still hummed in the distance, but otherwise it was very quiet.

"You know," Connor began, not really talking to Price, just thinking out loud, "You can see Jupiter really well, over there." He pointed off to the south. "There, just to the left of the moon. This is the closest it's been to Earth in forty-seven years."

"Really?" Price craned his head up and followed Connor's gaze to the right.

"Yeah, it's in opposition—right now we're between the sun and Jupiter. It'll get brighter toward the end of the month."

"Wow…" Elder Price marveled. "It's really bright."

"Yeah, isn't it kind of amazing?"

"Yeah…it really is," Price sighed, but he wasn't looking up at the sky any more. "It's amazing."

Connor snapped out of his reverie and looked over at Elder Price. "Is there something you wanted to talk about, Elder?" he inquired kindly.

"Oh—no, nothing really. I just…wanted to tell you how much I liked your speech earlier."

"Oh, please, it was just some fluffy sentiment, platitudes," Connor said, waving a hand dismissively.

"No, really," Elder Price countered earnestly, "It was really honest and heartfelt, I think you really touched a lot of the villagers—that is to say…I mean…um…I mean I…"

Connor chuckled. "You're not usually this flustered, Elder Price."

"Heh, no," he said with an embarrassed laugh, "I'm not usually this flustered." Price thought for a moment. "I'm just really impressed, is all."

"What do you mean?"

"You're the one who has made this all possible. You're the one who held us all together, who single-handedly kept us in the Church. I mean, you're…_amazing_."

"Oh, no, Elder, I'm not…" Connor started to protest, feeling his cheeks flush. _What is going on here?_

"Really! You've been the strong one all of this, keeping everyone focused and positive. I don't know how you do it."

Connor laughed bitterly and shook his head in denial, "I'm anything but strong, Elder." In that moment, he wanted to spill out everything. He ached to tell Elder Price how it was all an act, how much he struggled to put on a good face for everyone else when all he could do was worry about how all of his thoughts were about…him. But he didn't have the courage. And it wasn't appropriate. And, besides, it wouldn't have led to anything. Connor sighed and changed tact. "Well, anyway, that's very kind of you to say."

Elder Price flashed a half smile that fell almost immediately. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Of course." He looked nervous, pent-up, fidgeting. "Well, um, I guess I'll go back to the party….Are you coming back, too?"

"I'll be back in a little while. I have to complete some reports tonight also."

"Oh…OK. Well, I'll see you later then." Elder Price started back toward the tent, but he turned back impulsively and laid a hand on Connor's shoulder. He didn't say anything, just let his hand linger. Connor didn't move, didn't see Price behind him, the young man holding his breath, counting his own heart beats _one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._ He didn't see Price sigh, withdraw his hand sadly and walk back to the party.

* * *

><p>Another hour later and Connor was in the study, finishing his report to the Mission President about the baptisms. He wanted to get it posted as soon as possible, to show the President that the district was on track and following correct procedures.<p>

It was late, but the Elders and villagers were still reveling in the festivities outside. He was happy to have the house empty and quiet to himself.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. The hand recoiled and Connor turned around to see Elder Price. "Oh! Gosh, Elder Price, you startled me. I didn't even hear you come in the house."

"Heh, sorry, I was just…wondering where you were."

"Right here. Just finishing up the baptismal report."

"Ah, yeah…" Elder Price sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning his back against the wall. "Aren't you tired?"

Connor let out a short laugh. "Yes, exhausted."

"Why don't you take a break?" Elder Price patted the concrete floor invitingly and cracked a wry smile. Connor looked back at the papers on his desk, shrugged, and joined Elder Price on the floor, sitting against the opposite wall.

"So…how's the report going?" Elder Price asked uneasily.

"It's fine, nearly finished actually. Just a few more things to fill in."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"…Yeah." There was a long uncomfortable silence and they both looked around awkwardly, not sure what else to say. Connor stared down at his shirt, examining his tie clip. He didn't see Elder Price lunge forward and kiss him softly on the corner of his lips.

It was just a peck: chaste, tentative, almost childlike. It was not romantic or passionate; it came and went so rapidly that Connor didn't know what was happening until it was over, and the memory of it hung heavy in the air between them. Price sat back and watched Connor, waiting for a response.

They both held their breath, eyes locked and neither spoke. Connor felt like he was eleven years old again, small, scared, naïve, back on the playground in the grove of trees behind the swings. They were just children, sitting cross-legged on the ground. They didn't know what they were doing, it shouldn't feel like this; everything was wrong.

Connor was stunned and terrified. He sat, frozen, unable to look away from Elder Price. He didn't know what to do. He didn't breathe. The corner of Price's mouth arced up into a tiny attempt at a smile, but his face was pained waiting for some reaction, some sign.

Connor felt like he might cry and he didn't know why. His body remembered it needed oxygen, and his breath returned in shallow, staccato gasps. He tried to speak—nothing came out. He tried again: "Wh…What?... What are you doing?" he asked, barely above a whisper, with a strained voice filled with panic and confusion.

Elder Price started to respond, but he fumbled for the right words. Before he could properly answer, Connor shook his head violently and stood up with a jolt. His whole body was shaking, shivering, not sure of what was happening or what he was trying to do. He clasped his hands around the back of his neck, trying to steady himself.

He shook his head again and turned away from Elder Price as if it hurt to look at him. "No, I—I can't. No, I can't. I don't…I just can't." His eyes were closed as he babbled scarcely coherent and he paced back and forth, reeling, not looking at Elder Price still sitting on the floor. He stopped for a single second and Price reached a timid hand up to touch him, but Connor darted out of the room, leaving Elder Price dumbstruck and motionless on the floor, unsure of how to react.

Connor ran to the front door, but realized that he couldn't go outside—everyone was still out there at the party. He looked, panicking, back down the hallway toward his bedroom, but that would require going back the way he'd just come. Hiding—or, better yet, disappearing—was his goal, but there was no place else to go in the house. Stuck in the sitting room, he curled up on the far end of the couch, drawing his legs up and hugging his arms tight around them. He rested his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes, trying to settle his breathing. _In and out. Slow it down. In and out._

When he heard Elder Price's footsteps coming down the hallway he made a halfhearted dash to the door, but Elder Price grabbed his hand, pulling him back. His grip was firm and insistent at first, then it relaxed and the touch was comforting. He didn't let go.

"What do you mean you can't?" Elder Price's voice cracked, on the verge of tears.

Connor shook his head, biting his lower lip, and gave Price a sad, regretful look but refused to answer.

"_Please_," Price pleaded. His eyes begged Connor to say something, anything.

Connor's face crumpled; it physically pained him to see Elder Price like that. He turned around, not wanting to face the other man, but Price kept a hold of his hand. Connor's voice wavered. "I just can't. It's wrong. And even though I…want to, I can't. I just can't."

"Why not?" Elder Price asked.

"'_Why not?_'" Connor withdrew his hand sharply and with an unexpected flash of anger shouted at Elder Price, "You know why not! Because the Church says it's an abomination, that's why not! Because I was_made differently_ and even if I accept that and accept the things that I want and accept that I think it is OK to want those things, I can't escape the guilt. I just can't do it!"

"But I thought you said you don't believe those things about the Church?"

"I don't, but that doesn't mean I feel comfortable about being…this way." Connor seethed. "Why did you—... How—_How could you do that to me?_ What are you even trying to do here? Are you trying to pity me? Trying to make me feel like a fool? Because trust me, I've got that covered already."

"No!" Price cried in protest. "I'm not! I thought you'd…I mean…" he trailed off, diverting his eyes, feeling wounded and ashamed. He looked back at Connor, meeting his gaze, and added softly, "I like you…" It sounded like an apology. It was sweet and sad and bashful, three qualities Connor had never seen before in Elder Price. "I mean," he licked his lips nervously and continued, "We're the same…aren't we?"

Connor's shoulders fell. All of his pent-up rage drained out of him. Everything drained out of him. He felt as if he could melt into a puddle on the concrete floor. He took a deep breath and asked, "How do you know we're…the same?"

"I don't know…I just felt it. I believed it."

Connor moved away, shaking his head again. _No no no this is not happening. This can't happen here._

Elder Price stepped towards Connor and took his hand again. He marveled, lost in reverence, "All those things I said earlier, I meant every word." Connor continued shaking his head back and forth—_no no no no no_—eyes shut tight squeezing back tears, shutting out what was happening. "I mean, you're amazing. Absolutely incredible. Everything about you, I just can't beli—"

Connor cut him short mid-sentence, spinning around and crashing his lips against Elder Price's. He kissed him desperately, insistently, yearning, letting out everything he had kept inside until there was nothing left and he was empty and drained. He ran his fingers through Price's hair and Price responded with a low moan that made Connor gasp against his lips.

They disengaged from the kiss and listened to each other breathing heavily. They rested, lips parted but faces close as before. Connor let his hands slide down and fall across Elder Price's shoulders, then he shyly pulled them away.

Price leaned down, resting his forehead on Connor's. He threw his arms around Connor's neck and clasped his hands together behind. In return, Connor put his hands around Elder Price's waist, tentatively at first, then settling, comfortable.

Silent tears streaked down Connor face but he didn't wipe them away. He was already totally exposed and vulnerable and he didn't care anymore. He sniffled a bit and said, "I need you to help me with this. I can't…I don't know how to." Price nodded wordlessly, understanding. "How do you even have the courage to do this? How do you deal with the guilt?"

"I don't know. I haven't really. I've never really felt like this before. I mean about a person, about a guy, about you."

"I don't even know where to start." Connor pulled his head back and looked up at Elder Price. "What is this even supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. I guess I just…like you. That's all. Is that enough to start from? I don't know what it means."

Connor nodded and smiled blearily at Elder Price. "Yeah, well…I like you, too." _I can't believe I just said that._He felt his knees buckle and he fell against Elder Price, hugging him tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Elder Price cradled a hand against his head and another on his back, holding him close. Connor never wanted to leave this place—he felt safe and unburdened and understood for the first time in his life. _This—this is how a person is supposed to live._ He gripped the back of Elder Price's shirt tightly in his fists and Price pulled him even closer so there was no air, no empty space between them.

Connor was struck with a moment of panic and he stepped back, holding Elder Price at arms' length. "No no no no, this is bad. What if people find out? What do we tell people? We can't tell anyone. If anyone sees you…with me…like this…I mean, that's it, we're finished, shipped back home in disgrace."

"We don't have to tell anyone unless you want to. We can be discreet. I don't want to…what I mean is…I just want to spend time with you. I guess we'll do what we always do—put on a cheery face and lie through our teeth and be whatever people say is normal."

Connor let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Well thank goodness I'm already highly skilled in that area. I'd like to think hiding is a hobby of mine." Price nodded and cracked a smile.

Connor frowned to himself and looked off to the side. "What if this…doesn't work? I mean what if things get weird? What then? I mean I'm not naïve enough to think this is a forever thing. We…live together. And we work together."

"I don't know what we do then. Then we figure it out. For now, let's not worry about that. We're here for each other. We'll just focus on the good parts, yeah?"

Connor nodded and he felt a wave of joy wash over him. "Yeah."

They stared into each others eyes for what seemed like several minutes, then Elder Price licked his lips and asked shyly, "Can I…can I kiss you again?"

Connor blushed deeply and smirked. "Elder Price, when in your life have you _ever_ asked permission to do something?"

"Well…I'm asking you now."

"And I'm saying 'yes'." _Yes_.


End file.
